


Dancing on Marbles

by cftcft9090



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical The Spiral Content (The Magnus Archives), Multi, Was going for S1 polycule but didn’t quite get there, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26869405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cftcft9090/pseuds/cftcft9090
Summary: The room was suddenly blasted with loud, bassy music. It thrummed through the soles of their shoes and rattled their ribcages. Smoked rolled in at their ankles, lapping at the floor. Looking into the door, they were overwhelmed by flashing lights in a kaleidoscope of colors endlessly scattering about. The heavy smell of wet dust intertwined with the sour pinch of high-proof liquor blew into their mouths and clogged their noses. The flickering LED-squares of the dance floor held up only one guest: a man with long blonde hair and long sharp fingers to match, wearing bell bottoms and silk button up that covered barely any of his chest."Archivist~" the words curled off his tongue and palpably vibrated in the air, "and crew! What a surprise."The gang goes through a door and ends up in an evil club??
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Kudos: 9





	Dancing on Marbles

**Author's Note:**

> My first TMA fic :) I wanted to do an exercise in writing about the senses and I don’t think I quite nailed it but enjoyed the outcome anyway. Hope you enjoy too!

The thick air of the midsummer hung thick in the air. Luckily the basement of the archives was appropriately dehumidified, but the heat didn’t entirely rise from the cinderblock fortress. It wasn’t unbearable, but it certainly had the crew pushing up sleeves. With no windows for this underground section, air flow was provided by a few fans scattered about. All of the office doors were ajar.

They normally didn’t acknowledge each other like this; keeping to their own little cubbies until they needed to hand off their newly found information about a statement to someone else. Especially Jon, who was feeling too self conscious to record now that he knew he was being listened to. Instead he was rummaging through boxes of files trying to bring some order to the chaos Gertrude had left behind. A fruitless task without looking at what was already catalogued, but it kept him busy-looking.

The whir of the fans were the only sounds to fill the empty halls. Until Tim called out, “Uh, Boss? I’m not having a lot of luck with this statement." It echoed across the concrete floors for a moment before anyone managed to shake themself out of the quiet stupor they had all fallen victim to.

With a huff, Jon made his way out to the hall to address Tim directly through his open door, "What, don’t have the right connections for this one?"

Tim bristled at his insinuation, but turned to be snarky anyway, "Forgive me for not knowing anyone in the marble industry. Especially marbles that apparently ‘show doorways to alternate universes’." He clacked away on his keyboard one final time before slumping in his chair in surrender, “Like, for one: the marbles in the picture don’t look like anything manufactured. At least by a company on the internet, anyway. They’re so lumpy and gross they must be handmade by a marble amateur. And we looked through the marbles and didn’t see anything. I just don’t think this is worth our time anymore.”

"I agree!" Sasha chimed in one door over. She leaned out of the doorway, firmly supported by her forearm crutches, "I talked to the statement giver again last week and he said it hasn’t happened again. Could’ve just been a late night or something."

"I suppose you’re right..." Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes. It didn’t feel great to spend so much energy on a statement that was fruitless, but wasn’t that generally the case? And wasn’t it better that way? The last statement that bore some truth ended up giving them all some worm-shaped scars as a souvenir. The mundane ones helped to ground him.

But maybe that wasn’t the point, "Ah, well, it’s getting late." Martin joined in the commotion, "Perhaps it’s time we went home for the night?" They all glanced at each other for a moment. After the attack, they had made a habit of walking with each other for a few blocks, saying goodbye on the tube platform. Everything had felt taut since then, like pressing you face against a wall of cling wrap but not breaking through. Everyone had something they wanted to say but it was never the right time. A wound festered collectively.

Jon was hardest to convince to go home, "Let me just finish a few things right quick..." He shuffled back into his office and started messing around with the boxes. Everyone followed him, cornering him in his office.

"Just grab your bag Jon." Tim offered a little forcefully, "We’ve done all the work we need to do today; it’s nearly 8!" They all stared him down, watching his discomfort wiggle its way up and down his body. This always worked.

"Yeah come on Jon!" Sasha joined, “Let’s go home."

"We’ve still got a whole tube ride." Martin added.

"Fine. Fine!" Jon succumbed to the pressure, grabbing his bag hanging off the peg by the door, "But if tomorrow is more difficult because my files aren’t in order, you all are paying for it."

"Oh yeah, you can spank us all real good." Tim earned a fair amount of giggling as they all putzed down the corridors to the auxiliary exit. It was closer to the proper route than the main exit, so they used it often. The air cooled as they approached, which they appreciated but didn’t question until it was too late. Tim held open the door for his coworkers and shut the door behind him.

It wasn’t until the door was shut that they noticed they were not outside, but in fact in another room. A dark, empty room with nothing but another door. The splotchy yellow thing vaguely hummed on the verge of throbbing. It emanated a ghastly light through the gaps like a glowstick starting to die out. Everyone was stock still.

Martin audibly gulped, but forced a chuckle, "Oh silly us, we must’ve gone down the wrong hallway. It’s pretty drab down here, we must be—" Upon turning to leave, he found the door to be gone. Disappeared. Stolen. Removed. Not there.

"You have got to be kidding me." Tim approached the door, "There is no WAY we are going in there. This is definitely another freak trying to kill us."

"It appears we don’t have any other options." Jon grabbed the handle. Tim caught him by the shoulder before he could pull it open, they glared at each other, "If we don’t go through this door, we’ll just rot in here! I don’t want to stay in here."

"We don’t have another way..." Sasha reassured Tim with a hand on his shoulder blade, "Let’s just be ready for whatever is on the other side, alright?"

A squeak came from Martin, "I’m not ready!" But Jon was already opening the door.

The room was suddenly blasted with loud, bassy music. It thrummed through the soles of their shoes and rattled their ribcages. Smoked rolled in at their ankles, lapping at the floor. Looking into the door, they were overwhelmed by flashing lights in a kaleidoscope of colors endlessly scattering about. The heavy smell of wet dust intertwined with the sour pinch of high-proof liquor blew into their mouths and clogged their noses. The flickering LED-squares of the dance floor held up only one guest: a man with long blonde hair and long sharp fingers to match, wearing bell bottoms and silk button up that covered barely any of his chest.

" _Archivist~_ " the words curled off his tongue and palpably vibrated in the air, "and crew! What a surprise."

"Michael!" Sasha seemed to be the only one that recognized him. The boys all stiffened, only vaguely knowing what they were up against, "Where are we? Where have you taken us?!"

"You don’t know this place?" He stepped forward with one of his stilt legs, his teeth unnaturally square behind curling lips, "Well, you’ll be familiar soon enough. Why don’t you all enjoy yourselves, it’s a club after all. Dancing is good for the soul, so I hear."

Everyone was at a loss for words. Smog filled their brains trying to track the true gravity of their situation in the hands of some creepy monster with morally gray intentions. He had supposedly been helpful before, yet this seemed vengeful and bitter even with his glitchy laughter. Finally, Tim worked up the courage to speak out, "You’re really gonna ditch us in an empty club? How lame is that!"

"Empty?" A scratchy laugh pumped out of the monster’s mouth, "Why would you think it’s empty?"

And it’s was clear. The dusty floors they swore only contained the four of them was suddenly flooded with people. They danced and chatted and loafed about as if it were just some normal club. It helped pad the volume of the music some, but disoriented the group in a special, new way.

Michael made his way out of a door, "Ta-ta, Archivist. And good luck!" With a wave of his sharp fingers he left, the door disappearing behind him. They were officially stranded.

They looked to each other for a moment. Someone had to have an answer, right? Jon scanned the room, hands clenching at the scratchy fabric of his sweater vest. Tim picked at the dry corner of his lips, refusing to focus on anything in particular. Martin stared down at the floor at a loss of what to do. Sasha watched them all pathetically do nothing. The floor blared a dark blue light at their feet.

She sighed, "I need to sit down..."

"I don’t see any chairs... If you sit on the floor, I can help you up later." Martin offered.

"No chairs? There’s a bar right there." Tim gestured to the wall. Lo and behold, there was a fully stocked bar featuring four empty bar stools. Its mahogany panels were covered in a veneer that had bubbled in a few places.

"Odd..." Martin trailed as they approached cautiously, "I could’ve sworn this wall was empty..."

Sasha graciously sat on a leather stool that hissed under her weight. Jon chose the seat next to her, "It was. This wall was empty before we looked at it." His nails clicked the hard surface of the bar as he carefully rested his hands. The countertop’s scratches faintly curled and straightened even as he tried to force his eyes to focus. Eyes were all on Jon and he refused to look back, "This place... I assume it’s built just like Michael."

"Weird, you mean." Tim rubbed his chin, "Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I could go for a drink right about now. Oh bartender! Can I please get something hard on the rocks?" The nondescript figure behind the counter didn’t acknowledge him, but set to work getting some ice.

"Tim." Jon warned.

"Oh!" Martin chimed in, "Uh, can I get a water?"

"Martin!" Jon threw his hands up, "Not you too!"

He reflexively covered his face, "I’m sorry! I’m just- My throat- I’m thirsty..." Soon enough two crystal whiskey glasses filled with jagged ice cubes and clear liquid sat before them. 

“Please don’t drink that...” Sasha pled, but went unheard.

Tim picked his up and swirled the contents before throwing back a healthy mouthful, " _Blegh_. This isn’t strong at all."

Martin took a sip of his. The powerful punch of strong vodka assaulted his senses, pricking his nose hairs and tingling his tastebuds to the point of numbing. His face tensed in disapproval, "God, Tim, I think ours got swapped." But even swapping cups did not change the liquid inside; another swig revealed that Tim still had pure water and Martin had a potent vodka. Both of them slouched against the bar with a frown.

Sasha shook her head, "So, what should we do?"

"I don’t know..." Jon paused. A glance around the room found that the dance floor had been swarmed with those same nondescript club-goers people like the bartender. If you thought too hard about it they almost seemed unreal. "I guess we go out the same way we came in. We find a door."

"That sounds good to me." Sasha took to her feet, "Jon, you stick with me and we’ll search this half of the club. You two clowns can go search that side."

Jon hesitated to rise from his barstool, "Wait wait wait, we’re just gonna go with it just like that?"

"Sure." She gave his shoulder a reassuring slap with a smile, "It’s not like I have any better ideas. And I doubt they do either."

The two groups split up to search their respective halves. The dancing figures didn’t seem to mind that they were feeling walls to try to find some secret door that would let them out. While the walls appeared smooth from a distance, brushing your hands over the surface revealed the ridges of a pattern curling in on itself. It made their fingertips buzz even with the faintest touch.

"What the hell are we doing..." Tim rested his forehead against the wall, the pattern impressed into his forehead when he pulled away, "Do you seriously think there’s going to be a hidden lever or something that will, what, make the wall open up and let us out if here?"

Martin responded with a sigh. No, he didn’t really believe it, but what other hope did he have? "Well, I don’t see another way out, do you?"

"Hmm..." Tim glanced around the room. His eyes flittered about, not focusing on any one thing for more than a second. The thick muscles in his arms were tensing in time with the rhythm of the music - which sounded far off even just the few feet they were away from the dance floor. The colorful strobes even beamed across his face without him flinching. Finally, he turned his head in one smooth motion back towards Martin. His eyes were... different.

A devious smile curled onto his face, "Forget the door."

"What?!"

"Forget the door, Martin." He slid towards Martin, the hand on the wall hissing as he moved, "It would be a shame to let this situation go to waste, you know? All the action, all the motion, all the... friction."

"Oh sod off." He shoved Tim away with a chuckle, but was shocked to find his wrist quickly snatched up, "Tim... Come on, stop joking around."

"Who’s joking?" He tugged Martin off the wall towards the crowd. The dancers all seem to swarm at their intrusion, disappearing in and out of the light flashing overhead. They left a bubble of space around the pair. It bothered Martin so he pressed close to Tim for comfort.

Red light flooded the LED floor tiles. The light reflected off of Tim’s deep dark eyes in swirls. Martin knew he shouldn’t stare, but the shapes were mesmerizing. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice Tim’s hands creeping towards his hips until they took a firm hold. "It’s easy." Tim reassured him with a click of his teeth, "It’s all in the rhythm of your hips." He guided Martin’s hips side to side in tune with the thrumming of the heavy bass. It wasn’t something Martin was used to; dancing never felt comfortable, especially in public. But the music getting louder in his ears was drowning out the whipping thoughts of shame, melting away his inhibition. Tim’s embrace felt sturdy and natural. 

—

"I’m not finding anything here either." Jon informed Sasha, pulling away from the wall, "We may need a different approach..." 

Sasha was focused on the wall they had entered from. Her hand rested gently on her chin as her eyes traced around the interlacing patterns on the wallpaper. She was always so clever and driven; Jon was hoping she’d come up with some sort of answer. God knows he never could.

"Yes, I guess we might." She lingered before turning to Jon, her eyes wide but her expression neutral, "Do you think maybe we could just knock the wall down?"

Jon stared. Her pupils were the biggest he had ever seen. Her mass of black coils seemed to be poofing up, even threatening to pop out the braids on her scalp. Strangely, it emphasized that wiseness Jon always expected from her. She noticed that his jaw was hanging open and quirked a brow, "Uh, earth to Jon? Is something wrong?"

"N-No! No." He whipped his glasses off his face and cleaned them on his sweater vest, "Must’ve had dust on the lens or something." But when he put his glasses back on, Sasha had changed even more. Her mouth sharpened into a slight downward point and feathers speckled the areas where her skin was exposed. He tried closing his eyes to try to shake this delusion away, but she still was warped when he opened them.

Sasha was obviously concerned, "You’re sweaty. Why don’t we just take a break and think about it."

Now he really wanted out of here, "No breaks! Let’s just get this figured out. Didn’t you say we could knock the wall down? Let’s try that! I could get a bar stool."

"Jon?" She got closer, her blown out pupils showing Jon his reflection. He stumbled back, losing his footing on the uneven flooring and landing square on his ass. A flickering white light beamed across the two of them. Sasha looked down at him with confusion.

Then suddenly, fear. "Oh my god! You’re growing horns!" Jon shot his hands up to the sides of his head to find that, in fact, two horns had spiraled out of his scalp! His fingers traced down the scalloped bone, and a tug plus ensuing pain revealed they were anchored firmly in his skull. Sasha lowered herself onto the floor next to him and also began feeling up the horns. Just to confirm, of course. Well, perhaps she had some personal interest there too.

"I don’t want to alarm you." Jon sputtered out as Sasha ruthlessly prodded at his new protrusions, "But... you’ve grown some animal features as well."

"What?!" The feathers on her face puffed up, smoothing when her palm brushed giants them, "Feathers?!"

"It has to be this place. That’s the only explanation!"

Tim released Martin, "Wow Marto, you sure know how to move. Why don’t you try for yourself now?" Martin felt lacking without Tim’s grip. But it felt easy just to shake himself to the beat buzzing through his sternum. No one was watching, he told himself in an attempt to slow his pounding heart. However, Tim was very noticeable watching, eyes locked on Martin as he copied his movement. He shimmied up close and licked his lips. The teeth that poked out were long and sharp. Ready to rip and tear.

He snaked his thigh in between Martin’s. At the moment of contact Martin swore he felt his soul leave his body. They stilled, both looking into the other’s eyes for an indication of discomfort or insincerity or hesitation or facetiousness or or

Finally, Tim placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder and leaned back. His hips gyrated in all of the right ways. Martin felt so overwhelmed and out of his element that he was stunned.

"You alright over there, cowboy?" Tim snickered. There was a hint of worry worked into his brow.

Martin shook himself out of his stupor, "Um... What am I supposed to do with my hands?"

"I’ll show you." He guided Martin’s hand onto the small of his back, encouraging him with a little squeeze. The distance between them was closing fast. The stink of sweat saturated the air. Dizziness was lurking in the back of Martin’s mind, threatening to make him explode. Tim’s moves were smooth and slow, somewhat clashing with the rhythm. Martin couldn’t seem to care, leaning in close, nearly pressing their foreheads together, lips hanging open. They were getting lost in the rippling lights reflected in each other’s eyes. They could dance like this forever.

Martin was broken from the trance when Tim flicked at his ear, "Huh, that’s new."

"What’s new?" He reached up to find his ear had elongated out from his head. Not floppy, but not stiff either. A small tag hung off of the tip.

Tim rubbed at his own dark wet nose idly and was shocked by the new texture, "Maybe we should find a bathroom..."

—

"We should get Tim and Martin." Sasha worked herself off the floor in a hurry. Scanning the room, a scowl came to her face, "Bloody hell, where did they go?!"

Jon stood up beside her and gave the room a scan as well, "No way. You don’t think... they found a door without telling us?"

"Sod off Jon." She spat before tucking off into the crowd. The figures parted as she passed but didn’t bother any sign of noticing her. Jon hurried after her before she got too far away. The duo had managed to make it to the other side of the room, no boys in sight.

"Agh! Where are they?" She was frantically looking around now. Something didn’t happen to them, right? They were just across the way, they would’ve noticed something wrong.

"Hey hey!" Jon stumbled in front of her, "Sasha, come on. You’ve got to know there’s a reasonable explanation for where they’ve gone."

"Reasonable? Is any of this place reasonable? You’re a goat! I’m an owl! We’re here against our will and our friends are gone." She slouched against the wall, "We almost died because if those stupid worms, and I thought everything was handled. Like we’d made it through the worst. And yet, here we are... Trapped. I thought Michael was at least not going to hurt us."

"I..." Jon joined her next to the wall. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he settled with, "I believe I’m a ram... not a goat."

Sasha sighed, "Stubborn as always."

"Listen, I’m not happy about this either. After we finished off Jane I’ve felt... I don’t know... frightened I guess." He shook his head, "Sure, everyone’s frightened, but I’m supposed to be the leader, right? But when they found Gertrude’s body down there..."

He gnawed on his lip, hesitating to continue. Sasha wouldn’t let him off that easy, "Come on, out with it.”

“It just... feels like there are things out to get me. And with all the commotion suddenly, it’s harder to tell... you know...” He couldn’t look at her, “Who to trust...”

“Jon...”

"And what can I do about it? I’m not qualified to be an archivist. I have no background in research. I mean, I’m so thankful Elias has given me the opportunity but-" He turned to Sasha, his rectangle slits aimed directly into Sasha’s blasted pupils, "I’m not like you. You’ve got a library science degree. You’re smart and cunning. You act when you need to act. And I’m just... flailing like a fool."

"Oh come off it. You picked me as an assistant, for one, so you must have some sort of sense." She smiled. At least the best smile she could muster with a beak, "And sure, I’m a little upset that I didn’t get the head archivist position, but I’m happy that I get to be around such great people. Even if you’re an arse sometimes... maybe a lot of the times."

He wound his arms against himself tight, like he was holding himself, "You deserve this position... I don’t."

"The self deprecation isn’t cute."

"It’s true!" He bleated, "I don’t even really want to do it anymore. I’ve tried to leave, but I end up tearing up the papers, deleting my resignation letters, the like." He looked down at his hooves pathetically, "I want you to be head archivist, but for some reason I can’t walk away."

Even with the music and lights dizzying the world around them, they lingered quietly in their own little bubble. To see Jon so vulnerable like this was new to Sasha, and to be quite honest it was alarming. He always managed to put on that façade of no-nonsense bossman even when he had pulled an all-nighter for the third day in a row. And yet here he was slowing falling apart. Maybe he always was. Maybe he worked so hard to prove to everyone else that he _was_ that strong leader that he lost himself along the way.

And that wasn’t going to fly in her book, "We could... do it together?"

"Together...?"

"I know what you mean, about the not being able to leave... I’ve tried, thought I’d move on to greener pastures. But I can’t go. Been throwing out my job applications. But if you don’t think you can handle it alone, we could handle it together."

"Do you really mean that?" There was a sparkle in Jon’s eyes, as weird as they’d become. Sasha loved that sparkle. The hope for a future, the curiosity of what lies ahead.

"Yes, Jon. We can both be head archivist." She booped him on the nose with a chuckle, "As long as it’s Sasha and Jon, not Jon and Sasha."

"I can live with that." He attempted his own little smile, but the slit running up from his lip to his nose made it difficult. Suddenly, he stilled, staring off into space. Then he rubbed his eyes, "Sasha, I think I know where Tim and Martin are."

—

"A cow?" Martin’s tail whipped around as he looked in the mirror, "Why am I a cow?"

"At least you’re something cute." Tim hooked a finger in his mouth, showing off his new Canine canines, "I’ve turned into a pack hunter!" Martin wiped some of the spittle from Tim’s words off his arm. It was true. Tim was turning wolfier with every blink. The pointy ears poking out of his hair. The grey fur lining the edges of his face and the tops of his arms. A tail had even sprouted behind him.

"I would not say I’m in a better situation." Martin harrumphed. Besides the tail and the ears, horns were starting to stick up on the top of his head.

Tim poked him in the forehead, "Horns are cool."

"Yeah sure, whatever." He pulled at one of the nubs, "Maybe I can pull them off... Could you help me?"

"Sure pal, but if there’s any blood, you’re taking care of my fainted body." He got the best grip he could on the short things. He could feel them growing by the second in his hands. "You push yourself up against the stall and I’ll pull towards the door."

They steadied themselves on the grimy tile best they could. Martin wrapped a hand around the edge of the stall and nodded for Tim to start. He mentally counted to three and then started tugging as hard as he could. They were both grunting, Martin vaguely sounding in pain. But he continued to try to tear the things off.

That is until a small mass jumped him from behind. He was ripped away from Martin and his ear was filled with all sorts of yelling and bleating. Martin was on him now too, trying to pry the arms off from around his neck. Sasha was at his side, holding up one of her crutches ready to bring it down on someone’s head. When he was finally able to tear off his assailant, he found it was none other than Mr. Jonathan Sims.

"Jon?!" Tim held him back by the horns, "Have you gone mad!"

"Have I gone mad?" He pushed at Tim’s wrists trying to get him off, "You we’re trying to kill Martin!"

"No Jon, it’s okay!" Martin interjected, "He wasn’t hurting me. I mean, it did kinda hurt. But we were just trying to see if we could get the horns off!" The tension wilted away in an instant. Jon slumped, and when Tim saw he had calmed down he let go of his horns. There was an apologetic glare in his eyes, but a scowl remained on his face.

"Well." He brushed off his sweater vest, "It seems there was a misunderstanding here."

"Did you really think I would kill Martin?"

"I don’t know!" He threw his hands up, "I’m a ram, for god’s sake, who knows what other weird happenings this place could be causing!"

"And I’m a wolf! And Martin’s a cow, and Sasha’s..." He looked over at her for the first time since they grouped off. He moved in close and put his hands on her shoulders, "Sasha... you’re an owl. You look like you’re on some powerful drugs."

"Insightful." She shook him off, "Let’s just stay focused okay? We need to get out of here."

"Right right." He held a hand by his eyes to guide his focus, "Focus Tim, focus. Ohhhh... We should stay away from the dance floor..."

"Why?"

"I don’t know how to explain it." He looked over at Martin, "I felt drawn to dance. Made me feel weird in the head. Martin, did you feel anything weird?"

"I feel like weird is an understatement." A goofy smile rose to his face, "I felt drawn in too. Like I could dance forever. It was kinda nice until I snapped out of it." He failed to mention the intimate encounter, thinking maybe it was some sort of trick of this place. Why would Tim dance with him like that otherwise?

But that thought was silenced when Tim shot him a wink before turning back to the other, "Best to not get any more messed up than we already are."

“Seems like a good enough reason for me." Sasha nodded, “Perhaps we should try the wall-wrecking idea I had.”

“Quite.” With that, Jon led them all out of the bathroom. They all gathered the heaviest object they could find and gathered where they had entered. The swirling wall pattern was taunting them of an exit that once was.

“Alright everyone.” Jon stood tall, barstool in hand, “On the count of three, we all pelt the wall. Ready?” They all nodded.

“1...” Martin lifted his side table.

“2...” Sasha balanced on one crutch, fire extinguisher in the other hand.

“3!" Tim dropped his speaker, startling the group. And he went down with it, falling to his knees and clutching his head like it was about to explode.

He cried out. The pain like dust in your eyes, spattering all over his skull. His eyes convulsed, readying to jump ship if he loosened his eyelids even a smidge. Even the hair on his head felt like it was being ripped out. Something was angry and was taking it out on him.

But then the sweet siren of the dance floor called out to him. The kaleidoscope of colors danced on his eyelids and wrought tears when he finally opened his eyes. Masses of silhouette gyrated and squirmed, beckoning Tim to ‘Dance sweetheart’ and ‘join us! Join us!’

The dance floor wouldn’t hurt him.

He leapt off the ground and shot off towards the LED tiles. It was so fast the rest of the group barely had time to process he was gone. The energy around them heated up dramatically.

“Tim!!” Sasha launched after him without hesitation.

“Hey! Sasha!” Jon paused before heading after her.

“Wait, guys!” And finally Martin joined them.

The four of them collided on the dance floor. Tim looked glazed over, twitching more than dancing. Instead of giving them all space, the featureless figures crowded in and pushed them close. Their bodies felt like wet papier-mâché; they stuck to the patches of skin they touched until they were jerked off. It was like they were trying to swallow them whole.

“Tim!” Jon grabbed him by the shoulders and started shaking with all the strength he had, “Wake up, goddammit!”

“Jon! Jon!" He was laughing, “Dance with me, you goon!” His arms encircled Jon’s waist and he spun them in a wide arc. They managed to knock Sasha over pretty bad, but also got a few of the assailing figures. When their gooey bodies smashed the ground they exploded into a wet puddle.

“Tim, wait—“ But Tim swung them around again, hitting more of the figures and just barely missing Martin. Tim shimmied over to him with Jon in tow.

“Come on Martin! Everyone’s dancing!” He tried for a playful nudge, but ended bowling Martin over into a thick group of silhouettes. Martin landed on the ground in a thick trench of goop.

Tim was merciless after that, endlessly spinning around the floor. He hopped and squealed as if he was playing a game while Jon thought he might lose consciousness from being so overcome with stress. Eventually, Tim stopped himself when he realized the crowd was now goo. He wobbled, his knees giving, before collapsing straight back onto the floor.

The LED panels surrounding his body had been heavily fractured; they were either weaker than they seemed or Tim really hit them hard. The radiant colors they had flashed were now a pathetic dim, flickering white.

Tim looked pale, “Oh shit...” he winced, “Really lost my marbles huh...” Jon looked down upon him, pushing himself up from his torso. Gently, he turned Tim’s head to the side to assess his wounds. There were many leaking gashes filled with glass shards.

Jon sat up, holding his face in his hands. There was no way out of here, was there? His friends were all prone on the ground and here he was, useless as ever. What a cruel fate they had succumbed to.

"Jon..." Sasha groaned, "You got to find a door..."

"What?" He shook his head, "Sasha, I can’t... I can’t."

"Jon..." Martin shifted, letting out a hiss when he hit a bruise, "We need a door, you have to find one."

"Martin, I can’t. I don’t know how."

"Boss..." Tim groaned beneath him, but gave the best smirk he could manage, "You can do it. Find us a door."

"Tim... I can’t! _I can’t!_ " He jumped to his feet, "I don’t know how to find a door! I can’t do this! I can’t do this all by myself, I don’t know how!"

His head was throbbing, the skin pulsating under his fingers. The headache pushed against the back of his eyes. Pressure forced him to open them, but when he examined the room it was different. Instead of the multitude of colorful lights and shifting patterns on the wall, it was a steady black and white. The only thing that retained chroma was the shattered glass haloing Tim. He examined it carefully before scooping some in his hand. It was obviously not real glass, but still seemed to retain the properties of glass nonetheless.

"Lost your marbles..." He squeezed the glass tight in his hand. It would normally hurt, but his hands had calcified into a more hoof-like texture due to his animal transformation. When he opened his hand, a lumpy bead sat in his palm. The intertwined shards sparkled against the fading overhead lights. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that this was the key out of here.

Stepping over the puddles and broken glass, Jon approached the wall where they had entered this hell. Through the marble, he saw the wooden panels of a door. Perhaps this was a window to reality. The shifting patterns were faint, even still in some places. He curled his hand into a fist and balanced the marble in the bend of his index finger, his thumb sat ready behind it. Marbles was never a fun game to play alone, but he figured he had enough experience that launching wouldn’t be an issue.

With a flick, the uneven mass flew against the wall. The surface wobbled like a raindrop in a puddle. Slowly, the wallpaper unfurled as a flower in bloom. The door they had been searching for all this time finally appeared.

First he helped Martin up, as he seemed the least worse for wear. He let Martin take care of Tim (his bulk of muscle required someone with actual strength) as he tucked Sasha under his arm. The four of them limped out of the door.

Deposited on a sidewalk, the weight of everything piled onto them. All of their animal features were shucked away to reveal human hands, mouths, ears, and eyes. It took a moment to orient where they were, as it was not the door they had intended to come out of in the first place.

“I think I know where we are...” Jon held Sasha close to his side, she was a little woozy, “My flat is just a few blocks from here...”

“Are you hosting a company sleepover, Bossy boy?” Tim pressed up against Martin, having trouble keeping his balance. But he easily maintained that playful smirk.

“I think that’s for the best, Tim needs all the glass picked out of him.” Martin reigned in his grip on Tim. 

“He may need a hospital.” Jon deadpanned, “But yes, you all can stay the night. I think... we will need the rest.”

“Just so we’re square,” Sasha piped up, “Never going out the back door again.”

“Remind me to contact that statement giver in the morning."

They headed down the block with the crescent moon high in the sky. They would tend to their wounds and have a comatose-like night scattered about Jon’s tiny living room.

**Author's Note:**

> @cftcft9090 on everything


End file.
